Pop Quiz
by cmr2014
Summary: Already in bad shape after a night of drinking, Skye finds out the hard way what kind of pop quizzes a SHIELD agent can expect. SkyeWard, sorta.


DISCLAIMER: Agents of SHIELD and its characters are owned by Marvel Entertainment.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: For my favourite pain in the ass, who has been a bright spot in a personal dark time.

 **Pop Quiz**

Rarely had Skye ever felt so grateful for a bed as she had when she stumbled in earlier, relieved to hit the mattress fully clothed and find that made everything almost stop spinning. Had she known Simmons' idea of a girls' night out would involve defending the honor of women everywhere by drinking a bunch of frat boys under the table, she might have declined the invitation.

Or not.

Regardless of what she might or might have done, she had indeed said yes, and there was always a price for that much fun.

Part of that price came in the form of a headache so pounding it woke her in the middle of the night. Skye knew what would happen if she moved, but just lying there waiting proved to accomplish nothing in the way of lessening the ache. So she got up, refusing to yield to the nausea that felt like her stomach was a science fair baking soda volcano

No light, too bright. She could see in the dark fine…she thought, until she banged her foot on the corner of something. Probably would feel it after the headache wasn't the most demanding pain in her body.

Aspirin. And tummy pills. Medicine cabinet. Bathroom was halfway down the hall that went from the bedroom to the living room. Skye stumbled along, hand on the wall for support.

Drunk or not, she had been under a hardcore training regimen long enough that certain things had gotten ingrained. Her brain knew damn well wall corners and door edges were supposed to appear as straight lines to the human eye, not as the partial silhouette of a person trying to conceal themselves.

Skye paused briefly, trying to get her mind to work right. Alcohol infamously widens the gap between stimulus and response. It's the same with the thought process; one part of her brain sent out a request to another part to remember if there was anything usable as a weapon nearby. Normally a very quick thing, now slowed by the fact that the little messenger in her brain had to swim through a bunch of booze to get to that other part, then swim back with the requested information.

Of course, the answer from the other part of the brain was, _Request denied._ She couldn't remember a thing. Probably part of her brain had gone on strike in objection to her voluntarily hammering it with poison. And it wasn't as if she could go look for something, that might tip off whoever this was; which, based on the fact they were hiding in the dark instead of saying hello, she was definitely guessing assailant.

Her stomach flip-flopped. Skye started to hold it back, then suddenly thought that maybe she didn't need a weapon when she had alcohol-induced vomit. The grin that began to appear might have been called evil if she weren't an ill shade of green.

A couple more steps just to get in position, then Skye whipped into the bathroom doorway to face her intruder. In the space of a heartbeat she could see whoever it was jerk back in surprise…then she let slip all her stomach's disgruntled fury. Her body ejected the results of a hard night's partying right into the intruder's balaclava-covered face and down his black-sweatshirt-clad torso, managing to even coat their dark boots as they stumbled back in shock.

Skye took this as her chance to run – never mistake created space for tactical advantage – dashing into the living room and beelining for the door. But the intruder recovered quick and caught up to her quicker, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking her back. Skye yelped, but adrenaline was beginning to take hold, temporarily clearing the alcohol fog. She reversed gears and backpedaled with the rearward momentum, slamming an elbow into her uninvited guest's torso and pushing up to send the top of her skull into the bottom of the intruder's jaw. The impact was satisfying, and a much healthier grin appeared than had before – this shit felt _good_.

Apparently it felt just as good to the intruder, who, instead of recoiling in pain, took advantage of her proximity to wrap their arms around her in a tight bear hug, moving to try to secure a hold. She felt the solid musculature of a man's body, informing her this was a he; also felt one arm under her corresponding arm grasping for a half-Nelson while his other arm sought to fully turn it into a full-Nelson. Could have just gone limp and slid out of it – but not tonight, sucker! Not here, not now, not her, not when this most-likely-Hydra scum had invaded her sanctum and prevented her from getting her damn aspirin!

Skye bent her knees a bit, grabbing firmly what she could of her assailant's arms, then pushed off, launching herself into a forceful backwards fall with the intruder as her cushion. It smashed him into Skye's coffee table, collapsing it roughly with sounds of splintering wood and grunts of pain from him. The elbows she sent into his ribs weren't likely to make him feel good, either. His hold on her loosened enough for her to tear away and roll free, scrambling to her feet.

Her attacker was definitely versed in fighting through pain – he kipped to his feet, which must have been a Herculean effort after falling on a coffee table and taking some respiration-inhibiting elbows. But Skye was ready, nailing him with a flurry that was initiated with a double-jab that all but guaranteed a black eye and included a rapid-fire series of pretty much every punch, chop, forearm strike, and knee shot she'd learned, including a shin kick that she scraped down his pants leg to turn into a stomp that would have broken something if his foot were bare. That kip-up turned out to have been for nothing, because she finished her onslaught with a kick to the inside of his knee that collapsed his leg from under him, sending him back down.

Opening created, Skye turned to flee again. She was foiled, however, when her attacker stuck out his good leg and hooked his foot around her ankle, yanking it back and disrupting her center of gravity. Even adrenalized, her drunk body couldn't compensate and down she went, crashing to the floor and immediately scrabbling to get away. But even with all the damage she'd inflicted, her assailant was still plenty quick, quickly scrambling to her and flipping her onto her back before pinning her thrashing arms as he sat firmly on her hips. "Skye!"

Undaunted by her position, she tried for a headbutt. It didn't impact fully, but was enough for him to swear and put a hand to his head, freeing her own arm to send an open palm hard into the side of his head, knocking him off her. Unable to get fully to her feet, she still stumbled for the door.

The attacker tore off his balaclava. "Skye, damn it, it's me!"

It was still dark, but free of the covering that muffled it, his voice was now clearly familiar. Even in the low-light conditions, when she turned she could make out Grant Ward's face. His hair was ruffled, face sweaty, chest heaving from their fight, but it was him.

Her mouth went agape. " _Ward_? What the _hell_ is going on?"

Ward gingerly got to his feet, resting his weight on the leg she hadn't kicked. "Pop quiz. Simmons went out and got you drunk, and my job was to evaluate how you handled yourself in less-than-optimal condition." He rubbed his jaw where not only her initial headbutt but also a hard uppercut had left their mark. "You passed."

She wobbled over to him. "I am _so_ sorry! I didn't know and –"

Ward silenced her with a quick hand over her mouth before she could embark on the word binge some drunk people have been known to go into. He grinned, teeth a little bloody from a cut inside his mouth. "It's ok. You should be proud of yourself. I'm not sure I ever would have thought of puking as a preemptive move. That's not out-of-the-box thinking, that's 'box, what box?' thinking."

"But still –"

"But nothing. You did good. I'll make sure your stuff gets replaced. Actually, there _is_ a but – do you mind if I clean myself up, maybe look for a shirt to borrow? Somebody threw up all over me." He grinned wryly.

"Of course! Except I'm not sure if anything fits, but –"

"It's fine," Ward assured her. "Something will fit or it won't, I'll live. I'll get cleaned up, and in the meantime you should take care of yourself, get properly dressed for bed. Maybe take a bowl in case you need to barf again, since I'd rather not go through that twice. Can I make you some tea?"

Skye was puzzled as to why he was being so nice. "Is this part of the quiz?"

He grinned again, somehow managing to look attractive even with bloody teeth. Skye shook her head – that had to be the alcohol talking. "Nah. Just think of this as some earned respect for kicking my ass. Partially my fault, I shouldn't have thought you'd be an easy target, even drunk – but you definitely did kick my ass well enough to have gotten away if it were for real, that merits respect."

"Well…ok." Her brain still not functioning fully, Skye relented and, moving slowly, retreated to her bedroom to dress for bed while Ward stripped off his fouled top and rinsed up in her bathroom, considerately turning on only enough lights to see by.

"What kind of tea do you like?" he called to her.

"Chai!" she called back, immediately regretting raising her voice. The adrenaline had blocked out her headache, but now it was burning off and the headache was revealing its presence again.

There came the sounds of Ward puttering in her kitchen. Dressed now in pajama pants and a loose sleeveless top and lying in bed, Skye thought the domestic sounds sounded nice and comfortable. She was used to being alone, alert, ready to move, but these sounds of someone readying to take care of her were oddly relaxing. She dozed off.

Started awake as Ward came in just a bit later, carrying a tray with her small teapot and a cup on a saucer, plus some cream and sugar. He still wore his pants, but had taken his boots off and had only a black sleeveless undershirt on top. Bruises were already forming from the way the "pop quiz" had gone.

"Sorry," he apologized right off the bat. "It looks like someone raided your chai tea, I couldn't find any. I hope green's ok."

"It's fine."

"Good." He set the tray down on the stand next to the bed and poured a little tea into the cup, steam curling up from it. "Would you like anything with it?"

"No, thank you." Skye accepted the cup gratefully, and the tablets of aspirin he plucked from the tray and placed in her free palm even more gratefully. She downed both aspirin and tea quickly. Patted the empty side of the bed.

"Skye, I really shouldn't. You just put on clean clothes, and I still have these –" He gestured to his pants.

"It's ok, Ward," she assured him. "There's only a little spatter, and nobody ever died from a little drunk-spew anyway."

Ward's expression was skeptical, but he sat down anyway. Stiffly, soldier-like. Until Skye almost clotheslined him, so hard did she push him back further onto the bed.

Skye set her cup on her side's stand. "Just relax, Ward. It's not like I'm going to put the moves on you. I just like the thought of you as a pillow." She turned out the lamp that had been giving the room its soft ambience and snuggled close, laying an arm across him, her head on his shoulder.

Ward tucked an arm of his own behind his head; may as well get comfortable, it seemed he was going to be here a while.

A thought entered his head. "Hey, Skye?"

"Mm?"

"You know how there's going to be a Christmas party in a few days?"

"Mm."

"How would you like to be my date?"

Ward could swear he felt her sleepy grin as she told him, "I don't date guys whose asses I've kicked."

He couldn't help but laugh softly as she drifted off to sleep. It felt surprisingly nice to be her Ward-pillow.


End file.
